Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

“Is the connection bad? I can’t see anything.”

The room is dark. I didn’t even manage to start the movie, apparently. “Hold on.” I reach across for the lamp on the side table and flick it on. The brightness blinds me and I drop my phone on the bed, rubbing my eyes for a second. I glance around, looking for Francesca, but I don’t see her right away.

“Ruby?”

“Right here. I’m so sorry, did you have to call a bunch of times?”

“Uh . . . just a few. Is everything okay? Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m good. Fine. Just a long day. How are you?” I finally focus on the screen, not my surroundings. Bancroft is in a bed. Shirtless. In a bed. His hair is wet, like he’s fresh out of the shower. Did I mention he’s in bed. Shirtless?

I can see myself in the tiny screen in the corner. I look like a bag of dog poop. My hair is all over the place. I have crease lines in my face from the pillow.

Bancroft’s brows come down. “Where are you?”

“Huh?” I ask, because the answer to that question isn’t exactly one I want to give or explain.

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you in my bedroom?”

“What?” Panic flares for a second as I struggle to come up with a reason for my being in here.

“You’re in my bed.”

Oh Jesus. Is he mad? His eyes are dark. Although the room he’s in is not well lit, so that could totally account for the whole darkness aspect.

“I, uh . . . I was cleaning and I moved Francesca in here and then we were playing hide in the sheets and I must’ve fallen asleep and I’m sorry about that. I’ll wash your sheets.”

A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to apologize for playing with Francesca. How’s my girl?”

For a very brief moment I think he’s referring to me as his girl, but then I realize he’s asking about his pet, who is nowhere to be found. “She’s good. We were cuddling and I fell asleep.”

“Where is she now?”

“Um, hold on.” I put the phone down so all he gets is a view of the ceiling. Then I hop off the bed and call Francesca’s name a couple of times. I look under it, because that’s a logical place for her to be.

“Ruby?”

“We were cuddling when I fell asleep!” I call out. All the horror stories I’ve heard come back to haunt me. She better not have escaped. It’s what ferrets are known for.

I glance at the bedroom door. It’s closed, so she has to be in here with me.

I cross over to the bathroom. Sometimes she likes to hide in the discarded towels, because in addition to sleeping in Bancroft’s bed I’ve also taken to using his shower. It’s even nicer than the one in my room, and slightly more complicated, but I managed to figure it out without scalding myself.

She’s not in the bathroom, though.

“Ruby?”

“She’s in here somewhere!” I glance at the bed and note movement near the pillows. A little brown head peeks out from inside the case. “There she is.” I return to the bed and scoop her up, then prop my phone against the headboard so I can hold her and talk with free hands.

“You scared me,” I coo at her, my voice cracking a little. “Daddy wants to see you.” I’m so relieved that I haven’t lost her, tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back as I hold Francesca in front of my face and wave one of her little paws at Bancroft.

“Are you coming down with something?” he asks.

“No, no. I’m fine,” I assure him, even though I’m not. I almost think I have things under control and then he asks the one question designed to put me over the edge.

“How’d the audition go today?”

I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak. And those stupid tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

“Ruby?”

Francesca squirms out of my grasp when I wave a hand around in the air. I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t seem to manage it without making horrible high-pitched sounds.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

I try to get myself under control. At least a little. I stammer out, “I-I b-bombed the audition.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“I fell on my face in the middle of my dance routine. I have a bruise on my cheek.” I lean in closer so he can see the slight bluish tint to my cheek. It’s tender to the touch.

Bancroft purses his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“What if I can’t do this? What if I end up having to go back to Rhode Island to live with my father and whore-mother? What if I have to go work for my father? What if his skank wife really is my boss?” The panic is starting to set in again. I don’t want to have an emotional breakdown on Bancroft. I don’t want him to think I’m some loopy, unstable nutter. I want to have my life sorted out, like Amie does.

I need to get my shit together before Bancroft comes home. Because the more I talk to him, the more I want to do more than talk to him. At this point I want to do more than just get naked with him, but I definitely still want to do that, and sometimes it feels like maybe he wants the same thing. But he’s not going to want anything to do with an unemployed, homeless crybaby with more than ten thousand dollars in credit card and loan debt.

My internal pep talk isn’t helping with the tears.

“Maybe my dad’s right. Maybe I can’t hack it. I just wanted to I prove him wrong.” My voice is still pitchy.

“Take a breath, Ruby.” Bancroft’s voice is soft, lilting.

I do as he says and suck in a deep breath.

“That’s it, babe, good girl. Take another one for me.”

I take another slower, deeper breath.

He nods his approval. “And another.”

I keep taking deep breaths until the panic subsides. “I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter when I get myself under control again.

“Don’t be. You’ve had a rough day, it knocks you down a little. You have to get back up and brush it off.”

I let out a soft laugh.

“I have complete confidence that you’ll get a role, you’re too talented not to.”

He’s never seen me act or dance. He’s heard me sing, because I do it unconsciously sometimes. He’ll put on music while we’re talking just to make me hum. “I wish I had the confidence in me that you seem to.”

“You know what I’d do if I was there with you?” His voice is so soothing. I want to know what that sounds like in my ear with his body covering mine and no clothes getting in the way.

“What’s that?” I sound less pitchy and more breathy.

“I’d get you drunk.”

“And then take advantage of me?” I mean it to be sarcastic, not hopeful. How mortifying.

His expression turns serious. “I’d hope I wouldn’t have to resort to such tactics to get you into bed with me.”

“Well, I’m already in your bed, so we’re halfway there aren’t we?”

Bancroft’s tongue sweeps out to wet his bottom lip. “I think you should pour yourself a glass of wine. I have a bottle here. We can drink together.”

“Did you have a bad day, too?”

“I’ve had better.”

I grab my phone and carry it to the kitchen so I can raid his wine fridge. I decide on a crisp white. Also, his sheets aren’t dark enough for me to consider drinking red.